Chapter 45: And talk about the day we fell
A letter arrived for her. A hired owl that Halley had never seen before landed at the table, its leg extended and impatiently pecking at the slice of dry toast on her plate as she took it off.
Letters had never been something she enjoyed receiving. Part of her expected it to be from Riddle, but he wasn't stupid. Not when so many eyes would be on her correspondence - especially if someone had put her name in the Goblet intentionally.
She wasn't stupid either. It hadn't taken long to put things together. Someone always wanted her dead, and coincidentally, she was now competing in a death tournament.
But when she opened the letter, she saw Lupin's name at the bottom. Shock registered, and Halley realised that though he'd said he would write, she hadn't expected him to do so at all.
Dear Halley,
The Daily Prophet posted the list of the Triwizard champions, and you were on it. There was a whole article about it - though I would caution you against reading it. It's a load of lies and drivel by a horrendous woman.
I want you to know that I know you wouldn't have put your name in the Goblet. Dumbledore wouldn't have let something like that slip through his precautions. But that does pose troubling questions.
I sincerely hope it wasn't a prank - that the Weasley twins, or a peer - put your name in for something like that. Regardless, I'm sorry, Halley.
If you need my help, I will do whatever I can. If you want me at the tasks, I'll be there. Just…please. Let me know. I want to help if I can.
You are not alone.
Yours,
Remus
The tone in the letter was so different to the tone she remembered Lupin having. So much more…assured, pointed even. It was difficult to put the two voices together with the picture of the man she had. It was like that night at the Shack. He was so different from the meek and mild man that tried to teach her the Patronus charm.
She did feel…comforted? Was that the right word? It was difficult to place the feeling she was experiencing at him putting in the time to write the letter. To offer her help. To say he believed her, unequivocally. It was…nice.
"Who's that from?" Pansy asked, cautiously.
"Lupin," Halley responded.
"He's writing to you?"
Halley nodded. The letter also drew her attention to something. There was already news about it in the Daily Prophet. False news, if Lupin was correct. She needed to get her hands on the information that was being spread around.
"Have you got a copy of the Daily Prophet?" Halley asked.
Parkinson nodded. "Not the morning one. The evening ones are so much better in for gossip."
"Can I read it?"
"Why?" Parkinson asked.
Halley gave her the letter to read, and Parkinson glanced over it, brows tight. "It's started a lot sooner than I expected."
"You knew this would happen?" Halley asked.
"Potter-" Parkinson looked at her like she was stupid. "The tournament is being brought back after decades . It's famous. And you're famous. And you're the fourth champion. Of course I expected this. And you'll need to know just how you want to play your cards right," Parkinson said.
"For what?"
"For Skeeter! Fucking hell. This is not the week to be dealing with your ineptitude," she hissed.
Halley glared and ignored Parkinson for the rest of breakfast. It was easier to do than ignore most of the student body.
It became incredibly clear just how angry the Hufflepuffs were in Herbology. They clearly felt that Halley had somehow stolen their champion's glory - as if getting their own damn champion wasn't good enough for them. When two Puffs from her year tried to sabotage her Bouncing Bulbs repotting, Halley wanted to scream that they could have her spot.
But the other thing that was annoying her was that no one had told the school that they couldn't not participate. That their literal magic was at stake. Maybe they would all shut up if they knew that!
What if I just…barely participate?
If she stepped into the task and just…didn't try, then she couldn't be penalised could she? Not unless the magic was sentient, like the Vow.
She needed to check on that.
Halley went to speak to Professor Dumbledore as soon as she could - which happened to be that evening. The gargoyle was its usual prickly self, but it let her in without an appointment.
Dumbledore looked the busiest Halley had ever seen him. He was surrounded by paperwork; it seemed stacks of it were at both of his elbows, and a thick bundle of paper was in front of him. Dumbledore had only just turned the page when she walked in.
"Sir?"
"What can I do for you Halley?"
She almost said she was sorry for bothering him. For coming without an appointment. But then she remembered just how unfair this all was, and the guilt went away.
"Sir - it's about the tournament."
Dumbledore nodded, though he seemed incredibly tired and already resigned.
"I just - I don't want to do it -"
"Halley -"
"I know, I know," she said quickly. "I have to participate. I understand. But…do I have to try hard in the tournament?"
Dumbledore was quiet. Thinking. But the silence unnerved her, and she felt herself continue to talk.
"If I walked into the tournament, tried a little, and then just…walked out - would that still be seen as participating in the eyes of the Goblet?" she asked.
"I…do not know," Dumbledore admitted. He looked down thoughtfully, his hands clasped in front of him, the picture of contemplation. "I would need to ask."
Hearing those words gave her hope. He wasn't giving her a firm no . There was a possibility that she could get out of this without needing to actually participate.
"Be careful not to get your hopes up, my girl," he told her. She must have looked excited - she certainly felt it. "I cannot guarantee anything. The Goblet's magic is tricky. We wouldn't want your actions to automatically forfeit your magic."
She understood, and nodded to show it, but she couldn't help but be a little bit hopeful. Maybe something would go in her favour this time. And if she didn't really need to compete then Hogwarts could have Diggory as its champion. People would leave her alone. And she could just get on with her year.
"I will look into it. Until we have an answer, I think it would be best to keep our lessons to a minimum. I would not want to overstress you."
Halley nodded, somehow disappointed. The Occlumency lessons were still mostly irrelevant, but she'd found herself wanting to understand more about what made Riddle tick. Through as many perspectives as she could gather.
"If I don't need to compete full out, will we continue?" she asked.
"Yes. It's still important. In the meantime, practice your Occlumency theory as best as you can. It should help calm the nerves of the tournament."
Badges began to appear on student's robes over the next few days. She didn't notice them at first because there was barely anything to notice. But it seemed that, like gossip, antagonising spread quickly.
The badges were large. Luminous red letters spelt the words SUPPORT THE REAL CHAMPION: CEDRIC DIGGORY . And it seems, when the badge was pressed, the letters were replaced by CHEATING SNAKES NEVER PROSPER .
Lee Jordan was handing them out to everyone who passed by, it seemed. The other three houses, and even some of the international students, pinned them to their robes or book bags.
"Like them, Potter? Had them made especially."
He glared at her, and it took a moment to remember that this was the boy the Weasley twins hung around with.
There was no point in saying anything to him so she tried to walk around, but Jordan blocked her. "I asked you a question, Potter."
"Leave me alone."
"Fat chance. Everyone knows you cheated!"
"JORDAN!" The bellowing voice of the Groundskeeper - COMC Professor - rang out in the hall. He thudded towards him, his large frame making a thump sound in his boots on the stone. "What are ye doin'? I told you to pack it in yesterday!"
Jordan frowned. "Sorry, sir."
"Detention - Saturday!"
"But that's the Hogsmeade weekend!" Jordan whined.
"Shoulda thought of tha', ain' ya?" Hagrid said. "Now, off with ya."
Jordan made a sound of frustration, but he packed up the badges and walked off, grumbling.
It took all of two seconds before Hagrid turned to her. "You alright Halley?"
"Fine." She shoved past him and went straight to her Potions class. The last thing she wanted, or needed, right now was to talk with the Groundskeeper about what was going on - and lord knew he would probably try.
The badges were all in Potions too. Diggory's stupid charming smile glinted up at her from most of the students. The Slytherins didn't wear them - they wouldn't have dared to publicly ostracise their own champion - but it didn't stop the remarks.
Malfoy seemed to want to sit next to her today to specifically antagonise her. He took Parkinson's seat before she could sit, and began goading her. "Loving the attention, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "You would, wouldn't you. I bet you'll choke as soon as you do the first task. We have money on it."
Halley's ears rang as blood rushed to them. She wanted to punch him in his pointed little nose and watch as the red ran from it, choking him in the process.
But Professor Daugher stopped her before anything could happen. "I didn't give you permission to switch seats, Mr Malfoy. Back to yours."
He grumbled as he went back to his place, and Parkinson sat next to her again. She gave Halley a look, but it was firmly ignored.
"Following the last couple of weeks of lessons, we're going to be making antidotes now. You should have all prepared the recipes from homework."
She would have liked to poison Malfoy. And Davis. But she couldn't do that. So, Halley took out her parchment with the antidote on it and started to compare it to Parkinson's. But a knock came on the door, and a little boy stepped inside nervously.
"Yes, Mr Creevey?"
"Please, professor, I'm supposed to take Halley Potter upstairs. All the champions have to go - photographs, I think."
She could practically feel the glee coming off of Malfoy and Davis in the room, and Halley would have given up all the gold she owned if she could have stopped Creevey saying those last three words.
"Fair enough. Miss Parkinson, do you want to work on your own or in a three?"
Halley left, then, taking her things with her. Creevey was pink-cheeked and barely looking at her. But somehow, he spoke animatedly all the same. "It's amazing - you being champion."
"I didn't put my name in," Halley repeated for what felt like the thousandth time that week.
"Right -" he went pinker. "But it's still incredible."
"I might die, Creevey," she said, bluntly. "I don't think that's incredible. Do you?"
Creevey's silence rang out against the stone walls. It didn't really matter what he was thinking, or whether what Halley had said had made him reconsider the whole stupid thing, but he was quiet. And that was what she wanted right now.
She'd seen Creevey around. He was constantly trying to get photos of her without her knowing. It was creepy, but he was a kid. Hopefully, he would grow out of the infatuation, whether it was because of her name or he had a misplaced crush.
They reached the room Halley was supposed to be in, and Creevey turned to her. "I - good luck," he said.
Halley didn't answer.
The room was just a regular classroom, though most of the desks had been pushed away for a large circle to house the others already there. It seemed like she was the last to have been called. It also seemed like the champions had someone with them. Delacour and Krum had their heads of schools, and Diggory had his Head of House. No-one seemed to be there for her.
"Here she is. Champion number four. In you come Halley - nothing to worry about - just the wand weighing ceremony."
"Wand weighing?"
"Did they not tell you?" Diggory said.
Evidently not.
"We have to check your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman said with a grin. "The expert is upstairs with Dumbledore now, then there'll be a little photo shoot with the champions."
Bagman motioned to a woman in a very attention-drawing outfit and rigidly curled hair. Her glasses were jewelled and hung by a thick metal chain against her chest. "This is Rita Skeeter. She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," she said.
This was the woman who had already written about her. She was watching Halley with an intense interest and it made her extremely uncomfortable.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Halley before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know - to add a bit of colour?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Halley has no objection?"
"I'd rather not."
"Don't be silly. Come along," Skeeter said, and in a second, her long red talon-like nails were dug into Halley's upper arm, and all of a sudden she felt like she was a little girl trapped by Vernon's large hand again.
She was pulled into a nearby room - a broom cupboard - and the motion and movement felt too much like being chucked into the cupboard at Privet Drive.
Halley shrunk to the ground, hands covering her head, legs protecting her chest. The motion was drummed into her DNA now.
Air struggled to enter her lungs. She was disorientated. She was scared.
"What -"
Halley barely heard the rest of the words, but the tone was different. Wrong. It wasn't anyone she knew - it wasn't Petunia, or Vernon. It wasn't Riddle - it was just…someone.
It became easier to reconcile the intense fear with the situation when more light entered the broom cupboard.
"Halley?"
She blinked in the bright light and Dumbledore stood looking down at her. There was a singular moment where he seemed to be coming to grips with what he was seeing, and then his face morphed into anger.
"Dumbledore!" Skeeter said. "She just threw herself to the floor. What's wrong with her?"
"Leave!"
Skeeter left quickly and Dumbledore crouched down so that he was at her level. "Halley?" he said gently. "Can you stand?"
Halley looked into the cornflower blue eyes and nodded.
"Do you need my help?"
She shook her head.
Dumbledore waited, letting her stand at her own pace. When she did, her legs felt numb and her feet tingled under the weight of her body. The mix was disconcerting, but it regulated itself soon enough. In its place was a growing sense of embarrassment.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, my girl."
But there was, wasn't there?
Dumbledore went quiet. There always seemed to be these long awkward silences between them, like they never quite knew what to say to each other. Halley didn't care - she was used to it. But she could tell it made Dumbledore uncomfortable.
Eventually, he broke it. "I believe I have an answer for you about the level of your participation. Will you come to my office after dinner?"
Halley nodded.
"It really is not something to feel shame about, Halley," he repeated.
Halley's eyes flickered between Dumbledore and the door behind her. She wanted out of the enclosed space - out of the memories. But one was easier than the other, so she chose to leave.
Dumbledore followed behind her.
The other champions were sitting in chairs near the door, and Halley found hers and sat down quickly, making sure not to look at Skeeter as she did so. She could still feel those intense, hungry eyes looking at her, but they did so from the corner of the room. Skeeter was watching all of them now, not just Halley.
Suddenly, Parkinson's words rang clearly in her mind. Rita Skeeter was the one who wrote the obscene article, and no-one stopped her. And Halley had just handed her gold on a silver platter.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
She barely paid attention as each champion got up. Delacour, Diggory, Krum. She should have been paying attention; it was possible that knowing their wands and what they were better at would help her - especially if Dumbledore told her that she would need to compete. But she just couldn't focus properly.
"Miss Potter?"
Halley startled out of her thoughts and realised that her name was being called. Ollivander was looking at her expectantly, so she got to her feet and walked past the other three, handing over her wand.
Immediately she felt naked.
"Aaaah, yes," he said, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."
She remembered too. This wand was the only one that had felt comfortable to her. It had taken a ridiculously long time to find - holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix.
A wand whose brother was the one that had started all of this. Whose soul wasn't whole. Was that why the phoenix had given two feathers? It knew what would happen?
She'd never told anyone that her wand was connected to Voldemort's. That Riddle had cradled it delicately in his hand when she'd found him in the Chamber. It seemed safer. If they knew - if they found out - what would they say? Half of Hogwarts already thought she was a Dark Witch. That connection would seal her fate.
Halley prayed, with all her might to whatever was out there, that Ollivander wouldn't divulge the information. With how long he spent examining her wand, Halley wasn't sure he wouldn't.
But eventually , he made a fountain of wine shoot out from it and handed it back to Halley. "Still in perfect condition."
"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to lunch, as they are about to end -"
Relief swelled. Halley got up to go, but someone cleared their throat.
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"
"Er - yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were on Halley again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."
Things moved so quickly that it was all a blur. It didn't help that Halley wasn't really able to concentrate. Hours later, when the owls delivered their letters and the Daily Prophet, Halley didn't think much of it. She sat and ate and ignored the growing sound of murmurs and whispers until Parkinson shoved something in her face.
"Read this!" Parkinson hissed.
Halley looked at herself and hollow eyes stared back.
The picture showed a tiny girl with messy hair pulled back into a messy plait. Her school shirt was crumpled, she looked pale and depleted of energy. Fucking Skeeter .
The article appeared in the evening Prophet and everyone was reading it.
HOGWARTS' MISTAKEN CHAMPION
Halley Potter, the Girl Who Lived, has been heralded as the wizarding saviour since that fateful evening years ago. Now she is set to be the Hogwarts champion, a fact that has caused many a student to feel perturbed given she is the second to be selected from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she is not what one would expect.
A tiny and solemn looking girl, Potter is dwarfed by her fellow champions as she waits to be interviewed. While the other champions talk amongst themselves, Potter sits alone, guarded. Even before her interview, she is overwhelmed with the mere mention of wands being weighed.
One would expect a Triwizard Champion to be the boldest of wizards, eager to demonstrate the power that flows through their wand. And yet Potter, the youngest champion, trembled even to let her wand be tested—by its original maker, no less.
Many will remember their first time at Ollivander's - the tournament's chosen expert - as a time of joy and happiness. "The wand chooses the wizard," says Ollivander. "It is our connection to society. To strength."
Why, then, was Halley Potter so scared to have hers tested?
Trustworthy sources have said that Potter failed her third year at Hogwarts. She was set to have remedial lessons with her head of house - Egyptian born Nariyah Daugher was hired after the long-standing former head of Slytherin, Severus Snape, did not return to his role after his heroic acts - before the Goblet chose her.
Up against the best of the best, the champions are not likely to go easy on her:
De Liquer, second champion and top of her Beaubaxton classes, admits she is "not a threat" and that "she should not have been chosen."
International quidditch star, Victor Krum, mentions he 'does not worry about any of the other [champions]' while the third champion, Hufflepuff prefect Cedar Diggory, has much to say:
"Potter - well I don't know much about her to be honest," Diggory says, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. "I've only interacted with her a handful of times. But…she seems very reserved. Like she's not sure of herself or the people around her. There are rumours - only rumours - but she's not really been…all together with it for a couple of years now. Not since the accident."
The accident Diggory refers to is the death of a Hogwarts student Gina Weaselby. The unfortunate student's body was found trapped by Potter herself. As if this was not enough, the reports of Potter's reaction to Dementors suggests she is not of a strong disposition.
Unable to manage her interview, Potter crumpled to the ground and did not move until taken out of the room by Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, who seems to have taken a turn from eccentric to forceful.
It begs the question, is she able to withstand the tasks ahead? Or will the wizarding saviour crumble under the weight of her own troubles?
Halley Potter - the Girl Who Lived - and now the youngest Triwizard champion in centuries. The Goblet of Fire is said to choose the worthy, but perhaps it made a mistake with Potter.
It was a slap in the face. It felt like inhaling smoke; she couldn't breathe properly and every word seemed to force itself down her throat, marking her shame with a nauseous burning feeling all the way down to her stomach.
"We need to take this seriously," Parkinson said. "Talk to me when you're ready to be bothered."
She didn't go to Dumbledore's office that night, but somehow he found her.
The Owlry had become her place of refuge when things got to be too much. Students didn't tend to use it as often as people might think, and even when they did, people ignored each other to get out of the cold.
The design of the Owlry meant that there were four large cross-sections of old wooden beams that the owls could fly in and out of to deliver their letters or rest. It meant that there was always a draft - cold and cutting - no matter the time of year.
And that was where Halley sat, using Hedwig's weight and a large blanket to keep her warm.
It was perfect to sit on and dangle your feet off of. It was similar to the way your feet dangled off the brooms and recreated the illusion of weightlessness. She enjoyed it because she could pretend she was flying as she looked out at the horizons.
"I forget just how high the towers are," Dumbledore said, gently. He walked closer, and cleaned the spot next to her before sitting down. His legs were so much longer than hers, and his robes bellowed in the wind.
"Perhaps it is somewhat of a design flaw to allow such open spaces so high up."
Halley didn't turn to look at him. If she did, he would have seen her bloodshot eyes and puffy face. The cold had helped some, but very little could mask the effects of crying.
"I wouldn't." She would be lying if the thought had never crossed her mind. But Halley had never wanted to die - even when it seemed like things could never get any better.
"I wouldn't presume to think you would," Dumbledore said. "But, nevertheless, it is something I hadn't thought about."
Because wizards didn't have to worry about death like Muggles. There was always a potion for something, or a spell. And they lived so much longer too.
"You read the article." The statement hung in the air between the two of them. Halley nodded in answer.
"Rita Skeeter is known to be inflammatory. You've no need to take anything she's written to heart. I myself have been at the mercy of her writing only this summer."
That was easy for him to say. People didn't question Dumbledore or the power he held. There was this…intrinsic respect for him wherever he went. Whether people agreed with his philosophies or not, they didn't try to paint him as anything other than what he was. Powerful.
"She made it seem like I was -" Halley cut herself off. She didn't need to get into the turbulent emotions she was feeling, least of all with Dumbledore. He wouldn't understand.
"Halley…" Dumbledore sighed, but the sound was lost in the harsh breeze. "There is no shame in weakness."
He said the words like he expected her to take something from them. To agree with them. But she couldn't.
Dumbledore continued. "The world will have you believe that vulnerability - limitations - are undesirable. That you must be strong at all times. But those limitations and weaknesses often allow us to understand the people around us. You cannot have a world filled with those unwilling to sympathise, anymore than a world filled with those who will not stand and act decisively. The world needs balance."
"People don't get rewarded for their empathy, professor," she said.
"Perhaps not directly. But the ones that are on the receiving end are always grateful."
Halley swallowed down the retort. He didn't understand. He couldn't. "You said you wanted to tell me something?"
"Yes," he said, slowly. "I did. My research has led me to believe that the level of participation in the tournament is not a requisite of the Goblet. You can enact any strategy you deem best."
"And I won't lose my magic?" she asked.
"No."
"Silver linings, then."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. He stood up then, brushing his robes down. "Do you expect to be here for long?" he asked.
Halley shrugged.
"I will leave you be, then. However, you are out past curfew, and so, as much as it pains me, I'll need to issue you a detention."
Just as quickly as the anger simmered, it dulled. Halley couldn't be bothered to feel anything more right now. She was too tired. "When?" she asked.
"Saturday evening. With Hagrid, I would think."
"Ok."